


A Path Forged

by acgaeile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Poem, Contemplation, Drabble, Family, Hinny, I really have no idea how to tag this, POV First Person, Quidditch, The relationships are there but not really, life - Freeform, linny - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acgaeile/pseuds/acgaeile
Summary: "I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference."-Robert Frost





	A Path Forged

**Author's Note:**

> This a drabble based on Robert Frost's poem " The Road Not Taken" told from Ginny's POV about life and paths it offers us.

There was always a set pattern in life that we are supposed to follow. I knew mine like the back of my hand. I was groomed in a home where the females were few and the males abundant. I fought wars over stolen biscuits and ratty jumpers. I always paled in comparison to my brothers even as the only daughter, the youngest. I was expected to be the pristine example of matronly behavior even as I watched my brothers pummel each other in the garden. I was to one day marry and tend to the children we’d have. I’d enjoy it or, so I’m told. I assessed a very different reality from my parents. My mum and dad were tired by the time I came around and who is to blame them. A life with so many children. Where does one find time for themselves? How does one retain who they are while constantly giving pieces of themselves away?  This was the life I saw up close as I grew. Where I watched my mum give so much that hardly any of her was left. My dad who spent day in and day out to support our family. Who would come home each day as the life trickled slowly of him. They maintained appearances for us children, of course. They’d never let it show that the sorrows of the world sat snuggly upon their shoulders. I saw through it though. I saw what this existence had done to them even if my brothers hadn’t. Mum and dad are still trying. They are even after we buried of our own. The pain created a rift between all of us that will heal but it took what little was left of my parents. Maybe if they’d kept some of themselves, they’d have had more to fall back on. Maybe if things had been different for them. If they’d been more selfish, I’d have not been born, but they’d still be whole.

A life like this, a life where I am weighted down, drowning in domesticity, isn’t a life at all. Not for me. I can’t stomach the thought of watching my children board the train as I turn home to do laundry and worry about them while they’re away. I’ve toyed with the idea of settling with who everyone expected. He was everything you could want. A protector. A savior. A man who’d worship the ground I flew over. We could spend our days conversing about our children over cups of lukewarm tea. I’d prepare his lunches before he headed out to risk his life over and over again for the sake of the world. My mum would delight in teaching me her recipes and how to take care of home. Maybe this could have been me handing back that piece of her that she so willing gave me long ago. I could do it for her, but I don’t want it. I find myself being selfish. I don’t want my being to boil down to the life I can create or give. I want to bring her happiness, meaning, but I can’t sacrifice this for her. I can’t.  

I could not chain him down anyway and he refused to break my wings. The support we offered one another was there before the first time our lips tentatively met. It will always be there but in less subtle ways but it’s a flower neither of us was willing to nurture. It’s better this way. Even at the cost of my mum’s re-broken heart.

I don’t know for sure when or where my path diverged so far off trail but the one less traveled is the road I walk now. I feel free when the wind whips by me as I score again. The cries of the crowd send chills up my spine. It’s here, in the midst of the game, that I know I’ve made the correct choices. Where I know I’ve become who I was meant to be. It’s here as I adorn the bright blue sky that I notice her again. The blonde of her hair, so pale it’s almost translucent. I admired her from a far even as we bonded and extended the hand of friendship to one another. A friendship I’ve held in the highest regard from the day the sorting hat was placed on to our heads. Her, whom I’ve defended with bruised and bleeding knuckles. She’s here, as she always is, smiling dreamily up at me. Reminding me of how feelings so often evolve. Even as a bludger soars closely by, I find myself replaying the one fantasy I’ve had of when her soft lips finally touch mine. When she finally runs her delicate hand through my hair and encircles my waist. A start to a life of adventure with her by my side. The restraints of the world unable to keep us stationary. A future.

A cry of victory breaks my reverie and I’m enclosed by the team as they thrust the winning snitch to the air. I lose sight of her momentarily but she’s there with a smile, waiting for me, as my feet touch the ground. It’s not the end of the path I’m taking. It’s only the beginning. Maybe I’ll find that nerve I’ve always possessed and show her what she truly means to me. Maybe my mum and dad will rebuild themselves from the ground up and I’ll be there to really offer them a sliver of myself as they’ve done for me. It’s not the trail that was paved for me, no, but it’s one I’ve made and that has made all the difference.  


End file.
